


Ever a Surprise

by the Inktree (the_Inktree)



Series: Reverse Beauty and the Beast AU [1]
Category: The Owl House (Cartoon)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fairy Tale, Artistic License: Herbalism, Changeling!Luz, Changelings, Changelings have ADHD/are Autistic, Fae & Fairies, Gen, I did my research but decided I liked the story better this way, Murder, Poison, Protective Camila
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-03
Updated: 2020-11-03
Packaged: 2021-03-08 23:13:39
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,375
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27374764
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/the_Inktree/pseuds/the%20Inktree
Summary: When her hair grew in, it became obvious that Luz was Camila’s child. She had her mother’s eyes and hair, nose and mouth, even her exact skin tone, as if the fae who answered her prayer had been watching, and had carefully fashioned the baby in her image. Her husband was a little disturbed at this evidence of the fairies’ work, but it made sense to Camila. After all, her husband had not gone to the shrine.
Relationships: Camila Noceda & Luz Noceda
Series: Reverse Beauty and the Beast AU [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1999651
Comments: 6
Kudos: 82





	Ever a Surprise

Once upon a time, there was a woman named Camila, and she and her husband wanted a child. Camila was a careful, calm woman, who worked as a midwife and a healer within their town, and occasionally was called to one of the neighbouring towns to help with a particularly tough birth. Her husband was a quiet man, a hunter, working with traps and with bow, dressing meat and tanning furs to sell. Their house was small but warm, on the edge of the town facing the forest. It was a quiet place, good for treating patients when they came to stay in the spare room. Though Camila was a decent healer and an excellent midwife, no matter what the two tried, it seemed they couldn’t conceive a child.

One night, weeping in desperation, Camila went out to the little shrine in the woods, a wide flat rock within a small ring of standing stones. She brought fresh-baked bread and a bowl of her best stew, still hot from the fire, and placed them on the flat rock. Then she prayed, begging whatever gods or spirits might be listening, to give her a child.

“Please,” she said, “give me a child of my own, and I will love them with all my heart.”

Perhaps things might have turned out differently, had she chosen different words.

Then she left, and as she did she fancied she saw golden lights out of the corners of her eyes, moving between the trees. She did not look at the dancing lights, for she was not a fool.

In the early hours of the following morning, Camila and her husband were awoken by the sound of squealing coming from their front porch. When they investigated, they found a child in a rough woven-grass basket, laying on a bed of feathers and flower petals. The child was squealing and giggling at a small group of fireflies that danced above the basket. The fireflies left when Camila leaned down, and the child turned wide brown eyes on her. Camila named her Luz, for the light of the fireflies, and the light of hope she had brought to her mother.

Her daughter cried during the nights, and often woke them, and Camila’s husband complained about the ‘changeling’. But Camila knew that all children cry, and told him so.

When her hair grew in, it became obvious that Luz was Camila’s child. She had her mother’s eyes and hair, nose and mouth, even her exact skin tone, as if the fae who answered her prayer had been watching, and had carefully fashioned the baby in her image. Her husband was a little disturbed at this evidence of the fairies’ work, but it made sense to Camila. After all, her husband had not gone to the shrine.

Her daughter grew quickly, compared to a human, but not so quickly anyone would notice, except that Camila was a midwife, and had charted the early months of many many babies. Still, some strangeness was to be expected when raising a changeling. She kept an eye on it, and worried a little, but it did not seem to be causing her daughter any trouble.

Luz seemed to be always moving, bouncing, kicking, even in her crib she would reach up and grab the edge, and haul herself upright to look out at the room. But sometimes they found her completely still, totally silent, simply staring at the fire, or at a bug crawling on the wall. On those occasions, Camila’s husband would make a warding sign and leave the room, but Camila would sit and do some mending, or some other hand-work, and wait for her daughter to come back to the world.

More strangeness came as she grew older, and began to speak and play. She learned things quickly, or not at all; she knew the name of every plant she’d ever been taught, but couldn’t remember any day of the week, bar Tuesday, because she “liked the sound”. 

While Camila and her husband worked in the town and in the forest, Luz roamed the neighbourhood, climbing trees, exploring fox-holes, and collecting confused looks from their neighbours.

Luz had quick, sure hands, but clumsy feet; she could weave a rope from grass in the blink of an eye, but couldn’t jump it, though she once spent hours trying. She could spot a bird or a shiny insect from across the garden, but could not look anyone in the eye, except briefly.

Luz invariably came home with pockets full of feathers, stones, or flowers, and once, a bluebird’s fine and fragile eggshell, and the story of watching it hatch from the next tree over. She also came home, more often than not, with bruises, grazes, and cuts, on her arms and legs, from tripping over or pushing through brambles. Her warm brown skin soon became scattered with scars, and in some places began to resemble bark. Sometimes Luz didn’t notice the injuries until they were pointed out to her. 

Camila’s husband would often reach up to the top shelf in the cupboard when that happened, and pour himself a glass of whiskey, which would be finished by the time Camila had treated all of her daughter’s wounds.

Luz’s dexterous hands made her very helpful with many chores, and she and her mother got into the habit of cooking together, working around each other in the small kitchen. Luz could cut vegetables quickly into fine, even slices, and though she often snacked on whatever they were preparing, Camila loved to work with her.

Luz seemed to be either loud or silent, with no inbetween. When she was playing, she would shout at the top of her voice, or talk to herself, a rambling, leaping stream of thought that Camila found endearing, after a while. On the other hand, when tending the fire or watching the sky, Luz was so quiet one could forget she was there, hardly even seeming to breathe.

Despite Luz’s lack of squeamishness, Camila’s husband refused to teach her any skinning or tanning, or how to dress a carcass. Instead, Camila took her daughter with her sometimes on house calls or to help with births. When asked about a favourite topic, Luz could keep up a stream of chatter, non-stop, which functioned as a good distraction for their patients while she and her mother cleaned out wounds, mopped up blood, and applied poultices and bandages.

But Luz never made any friends. The local children called her strange (which was true), and evil (which was not), and refused to play with her, except sometimes when they wished to belittle or torture her.

It all came to a head when their neighbour knocked on the door one night, saying Luz had stolen his daughter’s toy duck, and what were they going to do about it. Luz adamantly denied the accusation, saying she made the duck herself, from a stick she found floating in the creek. Camila’s husband looked at her daughter, and quietly said, “Look me in the eye, and say it again.” Luz went completely still, staring past him into the night. “Ah,” said her husband, “the wooden face.” Camila wanted to defend her daughter, for to her knowledge, Luz had never once lied, and the neighbour’s daughter wore a small, cruel smile. But Camila was a careful sort, and could not seem to find the words, not while two angry men stared at her daughter. Her husband stomped inside, rummaged around in Luz’s room, and returned with the duck. It was barely a toy, just a vaguely duck-shaped stick, with the outlines of two eyes and a beak carved into it. He handed it to the neighbour. The neighbour passed it to his daughter.

Luz flew at the girl, hissing and spitting, fingers curled clawlike. The men caught her, of course, and wrestled her inside, into her room, and barred the door. Her screams and cries battered Camila’s heart, even as her fists battered the door.

Once the neighbour had left, Camila said to her husband, “You cannot treat our daughter like that.”

“Bah,” he said, reaching up to pull a bottle from the top shelf. “That thing is not my daughter.”

Camila took a moment to process that, but it changed little. “Fine. Then you cannot treat  _ my  _ daughter like that.”

Her husband replied, quietly, “I’ll do what I want.”

Camila’s voice was sharp. “What was that?”

“I’LL DO WHAT I WANT!” her husband roared.

That was when the sounds from Luz’s room stopped.

Camila’s husband drank heavily that night, and went to bed early. Camila watched the fire until it burned out, thinking. Slowly, methodically, she came to a decision.

When she heard a window break, she stepped out the front door, and there was Luz, standing in the moonlight, shoulders hunched.

“ _ Mija _ . While you are out, would you gather some foxglove for me?”

“ _ Si, mami _ .”

When they woke in the morning, Luz was back in her room, the shards of her window stacked neatly on the sill, and there was a small pile of foxglove on the kitchen table. 

Camila spent the day boiling the foxglove in a little pot on the fire. It was useful for some patients who had heart problems, provided it was taken only a little each day. She would give a patient a small jar of the extract, with directions to add just one drop to their drink each morning, that adding any more ran the risk of killing them. This day, when she had finished concentrating it, she took the little jar to the cupboard. Climbing onto a chair, she found the opened bottle of whiskey on the top shelf, and carefully poured the entire day’s work in.

Then she sent Luz out to play, with directions not to come back till sundown, and waited for her husband to return from hunting.

Hiding what she’d done from the town was surprisingly easy. Camila’s husband had never been talkative, so it made sense that he hadn’t told anyone about his worsening heart. And she was the healer - she would know best.

They buried his body in the forest where he’d hunted. Without him, life was harder for Camila, but easier for Luz, and Luz steadily took on more chores besides. 

Camila never regretted her decision. Luz was safe, that was the important thing.

But Luz didn’t stop being a changeling, not that Camila had expected anything of the sort, and she continued to… well, not to cause trouble, but to attract it. And Camila saw the troubles that found her daughter, that caused her pain, and she turned her careful, methodical mind toward finding a solution.

So it was that one day, when they had just washed the dinner dishes, Camila turned to her daughter and asked, “ _ Mija _ , have I told you about the witch that lives down the valley?”

Luz shook her head no.

“Once, I went to her to learn some better poultices, and to study herbs in more detail. You like learning herbs, yes?”

“Yes. And grasses and bushes and trees and vines.”

“Good. Edalyn knows many more of those than I do. I have been trading letters with her, and she has agreed to take you on as her apprentice, if you want. She said you sounded like you’d be suited to witchcraft.”

“You want me to leave?” 

Camila immediately wrapped her daughter in her arms, pressing a kiss to her hair. “No, never,  _ cariño _ . But I think… I think you are not happy, here. And it is worth trying somewhere else, to see if you can find more happiness there. You will be able to come back if you want to. Edalyn has made that very clear.”

“What if the witch doesn’t like me? Most people don’t.”

“Edalyn lives alone, and she doesn’t like anyone, so you are at no disadvantage there. She will not mistreat you, though, and you will learn a lot. She is… strange. A different strangeness to yours, but I hope… I hope that maybe her strangeness will rub you wrong less than the people here do.”

“She isn’t a changeling?”

Camila frowned, “Where did you learn that word?”

“It’s what some of the town call me, when they think I can’t hear. A few even say it to my face. They say the fairies made me out of wood, and left me here when they stole your real daughter.”

“Oh,  _ mija _ .”

“It makes sense, though. I have the wooden face, sometimes, and my skin doesn’t always feel pain. I don’t… fit in. It makes sense.” After a moment, she added quietly, “And I like trees better than people.”

“I had hoped to keep it from you, but it seems you are too smart for that, my darling. Yes, you are a changeling. But you were never a replacement. I have never had another child. I prayed to whoever was listening to give me a child, and the fae gave me a beautiful daughter, with bright eyes, a brighter smile, and never-still hands. Know this: being fae does not make you any less than any other girl. And you are  _ mine _ , Luz, not because the fae gave you to me, but because I chose to keep you. I love you.”

“Love you too, _mami_.” Luz relaxed in her arms, and Camila was glad.

“Will you try the apprenticeship? You can take a day or so to think about it if you need to.”

Luz smiled against her mother’s shoulder. “I will try it. I like learning things.”

Edalyn came by to fetch her three days later, and Luz waved back at her mother, smiling the broadest of smiles, just before they passed around the bend in the road.

Three weeks later Camila received a letter from Luz, a sheet of paper which she had covered right to the edges with words and pictures, on both sides. It was, to her knowledge, the most her daughter had ever written, and the words glowed with joy and excitement for the things she was learning, and the life she was living.

Camila cried herself to sleep that night, but they were happy tears. Because she loved her daughter with all her heart.


End file.
